


Rite of Spring

by Suffolker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boyd-centric, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suffolker/pseuds/Suffolker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica lifted his hands off her waist, big and heavy and safe, and turned to look at him. From up close she looked too vulnerable, too small and frail; divested of her makeup by the rain and the back of a black-smeared hand she was without her armour. Without it she was still the same girl as before the change – able to bite and run and kill, yes, but as disillusioned and frightened as before and becoming ever more so in the bitter wake of murdered optimism. Boyd wanted to swipe at her fear and sink his teeth into it, wanted to kill it and watch her do the same with his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rite of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Set towards the end of Series 2.

Boyd has always found a bus to be something magical. It’s simple, and childish, but that’s what he craves now – to be a child, to be taken care of and loved. The burden of responsibility has felt so heavy on his shoulders and the fear of the unknown; of letting down his pack, of hurting somebody, the constant underlying terror of being unwanted and without friends has left him emotionally exhausted so that all he wants to do is sleep. Inside the safety of the bus, almost empty and piercingly bright in contrast with the pitch black of the night outside, he feels secluded and happy, surrounded in a peaceful calm which carries him onwards. 

They’d waited for forty minutes at the bus stop in the rain. It was without a shelter, just a post on the road several miles outside Beacon Hills and when the skies opened the farmland hadn’t had any shelter to surrender. Erica was skittish at first, lifting her jacket to cover her hair and hissing when her makeup ran, but her exterior had melted when Boyd chuckled at her and she elbowed him gently in the stomach, leaning into him bodily with a sigh. It had been nice, standing in the rain, watching it drip from Erica’s hair as he tucked her into him. Nice, and safe, and so far removed from the bitter terror of his everyday life. The fields were idyllic, bright green in the early summer and so rich in colour along the flat road, far removed from the forest and the hills of just a few miles closer to home. The road was untangled, spearing flat and wide into the distance, and the underlying sense of peace made Boyd want to sit down and bury his head in his lap. 

“Boyd?”

Erica lifted his hands off her waist, big and heavy and safe, and turned to look at him. From up close she looked too vulnerable, too small and frail; divested of her makeup by the rain and the back of a black-smeared hand she was without her armour. Without it she was still the same girl as before the change – able to bite and run and kill, yes, but as disillusioned and frightened as before and becoming ever more so. Boyd wanted to swipe at her fear and sink his teeth into it, wanted to kill it and watch her do the same with his. That growing sense of fear twisted everything they did now; they had a place, yes, but they were both rapidly losing control, and it was reflected in the way she turned her mouth down and stood silently for a moment, face to his collarbone. With the rain plastering her hair to her face and her clothes to her body she looked smaller somehow, all the pomp and glamour decrepit and pointless and fragile, housed in such a breakable looking person. He felt that way sometimes. 

“Hey. You look like a wet dog”

She grinned reluctantly at that and Boyd melted a little more inside. 

“Dog jokes. You’re disgusting” she muttered playfully, and then her face fell again. “Boyd, I – what are we doing? What are we going to do?”

It had been such a loaded question at the time, and he had stuttered, not knowing what to say. Now, in this quiet calm space he feels like he should talk, like he should be able to say something, but in the rain surrounded by the smell of life and Erica and undercurrent of fear he had been unable to speak. He couldn’t let her down, now that he had her, couldn’t let down the one true friend he felt he’d ever had. 

***

They’d spent hours talking about the future, staying up until the morning in his attic bedroom, flat on their backs. Gazing out of the skylight in the ceiling they could see the stars and Erica would stare enraptured while he watched her in awe, internally tracing the lines of her face with his memory and soft kisses and a single trailing finger. In all this time they’d tried to be optimistic and it had been good, Erica smiling and shaking his mothers’ hands, sitting in the loft and leaning out of the window to shout joyously to him in the garden, both taking buses further and further from Beacon Hills and wandering through the forest, past farmland and through other towns. In the woods they’d practised changing and giggled, let one another examine their faces and the way the bones changed under the hands, the molten eyes and the fangs. Erica had trailed a claw down his bare arm and they’d both watched as the wound knitted together instantly, leaving a trickle of dark blood on the unbroken skin which Boyd had wiped off and smeared against her face, shockingly bright against her paleness.

“You look like a monster”  
“Good. I want to. Do I frighten you?”

The question had been impish but Boyd’s reply was genuine. 

“Yes.”

Those had been heady, exciting days for Boyd. The friendship was new and it felt attributable to what Derek had given them; a gift, along with Isaac whom they had had as well. Erica was still so hard, with the lipstick and the heels and she’d tried to kiss Boyd once, until he pushed her off and she looked aghast. 

“I’m so sorry Boyd”

She’d settled down around him after that, and they’d exposed their vulnerabilities, stayed up in Boyd’s room all night talking; but still acting as if it were all alright, as if this mistake they’d made was positive, as if they could make it out of this situation alive. Boyd watched Scott from afar and wondered.

In the rain, surrounded by the colours and the intensity of the dripping water, Boyd had done what felt right in place of any proper answer he could give. Lifting his hands to her face he cradled her, and her eyes had widened before she reached onto her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, flinging her arms around his neck. It was not sweet, but sad and desperate, Erica trying to convey her fear and Boyd his understanding into the kiss, she worrying his bottom lip between her teeth and breaking apart to whisper to him before closing in again. Erica had no finesse and something about the innocence of it, of her enthusiasm and the sloppiness of her open mouthed happiness made Boyd want to cry when he broke it off to look at her. 

“Is that good?” he’d asked and she’d nodded breathlessly, reaching up for more. “Um. The bus is here.”

The bus was a lumbering monster along the spear of road and she’d grinned against his neck. He wanted to survive more than anything. 

***

The bus drive has been very long now. They’d travelled too far into the neighbouring county and Boyd is regretting it after the gradual melting of late afternoon into grey evening and then dusk outside the window. An hour and a half maybe and he’s gone from resting his head on Erica’s shoulder to sprawled out along the backseat of the bus, head in her lap while she strokes his arm. She trails a finger curiously along the bridge of his nose, across his eyelids, around his lips, down to his collarbone and he smiles complacently.

“Enjoying yourself?” he teases gently, warm and safe and tired and surrounded by her.  
“Mm-hm”   
The bus lumbers on through the night and Boyd tries to tuck himself up as small as possible and forget the fear. They’re each other’s and whatever might happen, he must have Erica. She will live and he will live and somehow, in the back of his mind he’s already sketching out a future for the both of them.


End file.
